


As I Tie My Hands

by Big_Diesel



Category: The Loud House (Cartoon)
Genre: Abuse, Altered Mental States, Alternate Universe, Angst, Anti-Hero, Bisexual Female Character, Corruption, Cunnilingus, Dark, Dark Character, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotionally Repressed, F/F, F/M, False Accusations, Family Drama, Female Anti-Hero, Femdom, Forced Feminization, Freeform, Girls Kissing, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Lesbian Sex, Lies, Manipulation, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Minor Character Death, Minor Character(s), Murder, Murderers, Mystery, Narcissism, POV Female Character, POV First Person, Physical Abuse, Plot, Psychological Torture, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Serial Killers, Stabbing, Strangulation, Suspense, Teacher-Student Relationship, Teenagers, Thriller, Torture, Unreliable Narrator, Yandere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-09-23 12:07:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9656810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Big_Diesel/pseuds/Big_Diesel
Summary: It is troublesome to know of the act that I am about to commit. It is troubling. Yes, very troubling. The temptation of doing something that is not right? To do something that can cause harm? Or cause peace? Or cause destruction? Can something of a little or big significance ripple the effects of others? Can an act impact the lives of one? Two? A thousand? The mind of Lucy. *STORY IS AXED*





	1. It Only Took Seconds

It is troublesome to know of the act that I am about to commit. It is troubling. Yes, very troubling. I used that word is the best way possible. Like a disturbance in such a way. I have been told on numerous occasions on why fix something that isn't broken? If it is in perfect harmony, then why disturb it? Why not? Isn't what perpetuates us? The temptation of doing something that is not right? To do something that can cause harm? Or cause peace? Or cause destruction? Can something of a little or big significance ripple the effects of others? Can an act impact the lives of one? Two? A thousand?

A tragedy does not have an old timer's age. It remains fresh. A wound that never heals. Not matter what scaring the body makes, something else creates more damage. Then suddenly, becomes an open sore. Then, yet again. I am still in school. I have a lot to learn about the autonomy of the human body. The sociology of mankind. The psychology of mankind. Just the study of man in general.

It sparked in my brain one day in class. So, if anybody asks, that was when the origin of the thoughts began surfacing in my brain. We were sitting in my science class discussing the evolution of man. The main topic was under natural selection.

Did not pay attention as much. I was consumed in the lethargic tantrums of my Poe and Hawthorne. They were prime examples of bringing detriment to mankind.

Anyway, back to my point. This phrase became instilled in me. A purpose that was designed by the Lord himself. Such a phrase that brings the world to its weakness, fallible knees. "The strong shall live and the weak shall die."

The words simmered within me. It resonates like seasoning on meat. Soaking and marinating. The quote became a part of me.

Since then, everything has been in another perspective. Once again, troublesome looms in my brain. The world that my parents tried to make was just a bubble. A bubble of lies and deceit and just make believe. A tell-tale sign that they were weak to accept the world's problems. They said that they were protecting me.

Such weak beings bowing down. Such insolent parents they are. They should and will become obsolete.

Just not today.

Just like all people who think like me, everything has to start small. I mean if I aim for the origin of my past, then the ripple effect will only affect those within my family.

No, no. I need to start something a little bit sinister.

As of now, I am sitting in a coffee shop. I am people-watching. It has been a pastime of mine such the thought was produced in my portentous mind. Look at me using such a strong word. The devil is creating some sinister plans. What I am thinking about will not place me under the Book of Life when I die.

I couldn't give a damn anyway.

This whole world is hell anyway. Just a precursor to what is to come.

Anyway, and excuse my tangent. Then yet again, you the reader have some form of responsibility in this as well. You can stop me from doing what I am about to do. But knowing you all, you will only participate as the audience. In the mad sickening world we live in, don't you all enjoy this kind of thrill?

I mean, you have selected this story to read about how a young girl is capable of feeling this way. Curiosity has you at its best. And the bystander effect is very wonderful. Alas, you are here. So, stay tuned for what is to come.

I just hope you are not as cynical as I am. Someone in this world has to stop a person like me. Unless you desire or crave a cynical person like myself. Birds of feather flock together.

Now, I return to the scene of my whereabouts. I am huddled in the corner of the small, comfortable diner. It is late in the evening. Somewhere between twilight and moonrise. A few strangers walk by. They quickly look, holding their jackets before disappearing into the night or consuming their fat faces in the heart clogging ham or smothered hash browns.

Now, now, I am trying to calm myself down. The excitement of my rage creates adrenaline. All I can and want to see is red. Like the color of my flushed face. My favorite color. Like the color that is concealed in our lustrous flesh.

The scent of cigarettes lingers around my now lukewarm coffee. At odd moments, I give a sweet smile to anyone who displays themselves as friendly. Poor suckers, poor fools. Once again, a test to see if they can be one of my weak victims.

Yes, I say victims.

Enough of confusing you all with such nonsense. Sometimes, I think why to be so detailed. Just say what you have to say and keep going with your life.

But there are a few who wants details, something to backtrack. An origin of my cynical being.

Anyway, where am I going with this?

I want to know what it is like to be God. To give and to take. To reward and to punish. To let a person live and to let a person die. My choice, my decision.

There is nothing for you guys to stop it. I have been thinking this way for quite a long, long time. No one could have stopped it. No matter what my sisters have done, my parents, my brother, no one. It has been in my psychosis as far back as I can remember.

Once, I have asked myself, what if this feeling wasn't conceived by me, but planted in my mind.

What if it was predeveloped?

Hell, they say that God gave us a purpose.

He had never defined on what was that said purpose.

Good and evil thrive in this world. Amidst the world we live in, evil wins. It succeeds, resonates throughout my veins. Fills it warmth, nudging me. It pushes me, it speaks to me. It whispers like a gentle voice. It calls me over and over.

I give in to it. It wraps its arms around me. It tells me not to worry for it is your destiny.

I accept that destiny, no matter what effect it brings. And I can't wait. And I can't wait.

The cold, crisp air reminds me that I am at the coffee shop. I look up to see another visitor to this small cavern.

He looks fragile. He looks timid. As if the world did not give him any treatment of the higher echelon. He wraps himself tightly around the hand-woven coat. I watch him approach the counter. He looks at the waiter with such puppy eyes. It is very adorable.

He asks the waiter for a chocolate milk. The waiter nods silently before making his drink. He takes off his coat and folds it neatly beside the seat on the counter. He looks blue. Not surprised. It is that time of year. But it leaves me with curiosity. So cold, so cold.

_It makes me think of death._

The waiter returns with his chocolate milk. He gives the waiter a few dollars. He bows his head in return. The boy drinks his milk in silence. I watch him take a few sips. His face was turning red. Some much warmth, I think.

After giving it a thought. I have made up my mind.

I call to the boy.

"Rocky," I say his name. I knew who he is. He is one of my classmates.

The boy turns around. Surprised to see me is the expression he is giving off. That is not the only thing he is going to express, I have thought.

I have made up my mind.

"Lucy," he tells me. His demeanor relaxes. Seeing a familiar person can do such things to you. He grabs his things and comes into my direction.

Like any creatures who becomes attracted to the sweet nectar that I like to call, my trap.

"Hey, what's up," he tells me.

"Nothing much," I say.

"Cool," he says while smiling. "I am kinda surprised to see you out here."

"I can't help but to say the same thing," I tell him. Get him comfortable, I explain to myself. Keep calm and act natural. For what he knows, this is just an ordinary, friendly conversation.

"My parents are shopping," he tells me. He drinks another gulp of his chocolate milk. "Rusty's birthday is tomorrow and they are looking for a gift."

I nod my head. Showing him that I "understand."

"And you," he asks me.

"Oh you know, just waiting until my girlfriends to pick me and go to the mall," I tell him.

He laughs. He is definitely, definitely comfortable. A very good sign. Good move, Lucy.

"You have always been a jokester, Lucy," he says.

"I mean, YOLO," I respond.

He laughs again.

"But seriously, Luce," he says while using my nickname. I am a bit annoyed. He doesn't know me that well to call me by my nickname. That sort of pisses me off. But that's okay, just a catalyst for what I am planning to do.

"Luce," he says while waving his hand.

Such soft hands he has. Or at least on how it looks.

"Yes," I reply.

"Why are you out here," he asks me. His face is a little tensed. It is like something is warning him of something. His angels better stay out of this. I gnash my teeth. I want this boy. Don't worry, God. He will be under your holy hands soon.

"I just wanted to be alone," I explain.

"Alone," he retorts.

"Yeah," I say.

Time to play the game.

"Sometimes, it is tough living in a big house," I tell him. "Moments where parents have to show some dedication to one than the other." I quiver my lip. I sort of trembled while trying to drink my now cold coffee. "It sucks being the younger of the bunch."

"Tell me about it," he scoffs. "You are one of many. I have my brother." He looks away then returns to my eyesight. "I feel as though that the 'rents pay more attention to him because he can be needy."

"Needy," I say.

"Yeah," he says. He takes another sip of his chocolate milk.

"Would you care to explain," I ask him.

He looks at the glass. "Rusty has this ploy to attract attention onto himself. I can't quite put my finger on it, but it works."

I put my elbows on the table. My chin is on my palms. I have become engaged in his conversation. I am giving him the attention he thinks he deserves. Poor fool.

"My parents spoil him. At his will, they are neck and foot, but not like that with me," he says. His facial expression changes. His eyes become sunken and his cheeks are flushed. With his eye twitching, it is very obvious that he is hurt.

Go for it, Luce.

"Sigh," I say using my signature phrase. "If Hawthorne can put on the veil, he knows your pain." I scoff. "It hurts. I know the feeling. I share your pain, Rocky."

"Thanks, Luce," he tells me.

"Don't you think it sucks to be in that position," I ask him.

He looks puzzled. Probably surprised at my sudden, upbeat question.

"Don't you wish that we can be the ones that vie for attention," I tell him.

"No, I mean, yeah." He mumbles. "I mean, I want my parents to give me some kind of respect. Some kind of attention too."

I lean closer to him. I am now in his range of view. The closer I get, the more he flushes. I know he is not used to being around a girl.

In the past, we had shared some occasions.

Just passing the time. Just passing the time. Gathering what evidence I need for my upcoming premise of the story that will be told for many generations to come.

"Luce," he responds. I wish he would stop saying my name like that. I keep my composure.

"I think. I think," I take a breath. "I think if you tell your parents how you feel, then maybe that would work."

He looks down at the table. I know he is disagreeing. His body language tells it all.

"I often have thought about running away," he tells me.

Bingo.

"Running away," I retort.

"Go someplace they can't find me. Have them look all over the place for me. Just have them scared until they are aching and crying for me to come home," he says. There is a hint of tears leaking from his eyes.

_What a pussy!_

"Rocky," I say. I am calm. Displaying whatever sympathy to him.

"Plenty of times I planted in my brain to do it. Just go on and leave," he says while finishing some more of his chocolate milk. "No packing up, just walk out of the house and don't come back."

I grab his hand. His face is now flushed by the contact of a girl's touch.

"I wish you didn't think that way," I tell him with my sweet lies.

"Me too," he replies.

He looks at the clock on the wall. The time displays itself at a quarter until nine. "I think I should go." He tells me. "By now, they should be finished looking for a gift."

I return my hands to my side of the table. I rub my eyelids to relieve the itch.

It can't be irritable to live such a lie to get what you are looking for.

"Would you care if I come with you," I tell him.

He shrugs his shoulder. "Sure," he says.

I put on my black hooded parka and depart from the table. I let a few singles on the table. I am nice. It is a tip for luring such a boy in my direction.

He opens the door for me as we left the diner. By now, the wind is picking up and it is becoming nifty.

"Man, it's cold," he says out loud.

"So is the body after death," I respond.

"Luce, you're weird," he chuckles.

You are right, Rocky. You were right, Rocky.

The streets are empty. There is no activity. At this time of the evening, I am not surprised. It gives a desolate feeling. It is like an omen. It gives me chills. It gives me excitement on what I am going to do.

We walk as he tells me that his parents are not that far. I proceed to follow him. From time to time, a car passes by. A street light under me flickers. Another ominous warning.

We continue walking a few blocks until we stop at the park. We find a bench and he asks if we can sit. I agree.

There is silence for a few moments. I can tell that he has a lot on his mind. The wind isn't the only thing that is making him shiver.

I decided to go out with it.

"Rocky," I ask him.

"Yeah," he says. His puppy-like eyes become glassy. It is encased in grief and another thing. I know that he is lying.

"Your parents aren't shopping. Aren't they," I ask him.

"No," he says silently. His face shakes. I know he is on the verge of crying.

I rub my sleeve to give myself some warmth. "You have run away. Didn't you," I ask.

He shakes his head forward in agreement. He is slumped. I hear a sob. It echoes into the night.

I could have let him explain himself. But, honestly, I don't care for the reason. I just know that he is alone. Alone with the devil.

I get up and get from behind him. I put my hands around his shoulder, giving him some kind of comfort. Letting him know that a friend is right there.

"It's okay. Let it out," I told him.

He crackles and lets out a loud cry. No longer he was a puppy but now an abandoned kitty searching for his lost mother.

I coo him. I shush him to calm down.

"Shh, shh," I say. "It's okay. It's okay."

He remains slumped over the bench. The sounds of sniffling fill the cold, windy air. As he remains crying, I decide that it is time to carry on what I have been intending to do.

I take out an object wrapped in thin cloth from my parka. I unfold the cloth to reveal one of my masterpieces. It is sort of an ice pick.

The tip was sharp and pointed as a needle.

As he lies lamenting on his parents, I have planned to end his suffering.

I take a few breaths. This has to be right. If I mess up, then it won't be successful as I want it to be.

I raise my hand and take a deeper breath.

I pause for a moment.

I drive the needle into the back of his neck.

It is now over. It takes a matter of seconds. I hear Rocky take a sharp breath and everything went stiff. Silence. It is over. Rusty is no longer part of this world.

I walk around to examine him. He is still slumped over the park bench. I can't believe what I have done. I went out and carried my plan.

Poor fool, poor bastard. Should have never got in the seat with me. Such a gullible fool. Caught in the spider's web.

I don't smile. I don't celebrate. I just know that I have the ability to take life away. It wasn't hard.

I retreat my weapon inside of my parka.

I don't do anything to conceal anything. With much practice I have studied in books, the autopsy will conclude it as natural causes or hypothermia. He had mercy.

"Goodbye, Rocky," I say before kissing him on his head.

As soon as I seen the color of his face fade away, I take my leave.

The streets are more lonely than they were earlier.

I walk home with many things on my mind.

It is troublesome to know of the act that I did commit. It is troubling. Yes, very troubling. I use that word is the best way possible. Like a disturbance in such a way. I have been told on numerous occasions on why fix something that isn't broken? If it is in perfect harmony, then why disturb it? Why not? Isn't what perpetuates us? The temptation of doing something that is not right? To do something that can cause harm? Or cause peace? Or cause destruction?

_Can something of a little or big significance ripple the effects of others? Can an act impact the lives of one? Two? A thousand?_

Guess I will find out in tomorrow's news.


	2. It Was Never Easy

_The first kill is never easy._

It never is. It never is. It. Never. Is. In those painstaking, yet breathtaking moments, you are a God. You are an alpha who brings an omega to a beta. That is what I refer to my victims, betas. For betas who are subpar in existence. A factor outside of our equation. I use these terms in a sense of Darwin. Last week, I picked up another book on him.

So, you know I study other things aside from the mysticism and the macabre.

But, now I digress.

The crunch of the snow makes its impression on my boot. It's the only thing making its presence known in the quiet, still night. I believe that the snow entitled whatever it is gathering for the night. It is not everyday that it is that quiet. I have assumed that the angels were whispering to the fallible souls that the angel of death was on a whim tonight.

They have heeded their warning. I am at work. I was at work. I did my job. And I did what I have to do. Something about taking charge of another person's life is riveting in my cold, but running veins. Like a child when it breaches from the mother's womb and gathers its' first breath. Or when a flower rises from concrete. Or when you have gained acceptance from a loved one.

Many don't relate to another. It doesn't have to. Once again, the alpha is in charge of the omega.

_The first kill is never easy._

But damn, can it be so calculated. Knowing how to identify a person. Their body language, their features, their ins and their outs; their everything. A blueprint of their life to use at my mercy.

_Mercy?_

I remind myself to be very delicate on how I used such a gentle word. God shows mercy. An angel shows mercy. My use of mercy depends on how delicate a person is.

Once, I asked a man on how he wanted to die. He could choose a knife to be stab or a noose to hang himself. At least he was given options. Poor defiant fool. I gave him an option and rather run away from me. I pouted as I skipped to lunge that precious knife to his buxom. He saw my callous smile on the reflection of it before I twisted within his spine. At his final breath, he forgave him. I gave him a gentle kiss on his forehead before I used the noose as a lever to snap his neck.

He was discovered a few days later in a blanket of snow. He was not shown mercy. There was a reason for such a cold kill for him. The pitiful mutt was still lucky on how much I could have tortured him. And yet, I was a novice killer. Yet to craft my techniques.

Sometimes, I match my type of kill based on their personality.

Alas, he was not my first kill.

In fact, I can't quite remember how long ago I have started this. No, no, let me correct myself. How long have I planted the seed that would root itself into a damnation of a killer?

When I was in kindergarten? First grade? Second grade? Red was such a favorite color of mine in elementary school. I once used the blood of one of my classmates in a painting. I wanted to add texture, some liveness in it. The painting was entitled _Amore of A Fallen Saint_.

The child never returned to the school. His parents sued the school system. The case was turnover. They have received an out-of-court settlement. But is the cost of the fund can replace the torture I did to her.

Oh, I didn't tell what I have done to gain my notoriety. I used the big tack that teachers used for attaching papers. I told her that we were going to have a crucifixion. Surprise, she involuntary played the role of Jesus.

I am not going to explain more. For if one of you know who she was, then I don't want to go to court. So, the end of that.

Alas, she was obviously not my first kill. She was that spice that enhanced the flavor of my new profound interest. It doesn't make sense, but hell, this is my story.

Police sirens wail from a distance. Is it for the departed Rocky? How soon will his bereaved parents are alerted of his disappearance? Do they notice that is missing? Do they care that he is missing? Couldn't fathom nor care about it. His body is turning cold with the snow. The darkness is meshing with his now still heartbeat.

 _No longer you are apart of this world._ I have imagined if Darwin, himself, would commend me on my deeds as if he were God. _Well done, thy good and faithful servant._ It would be followed with a pat on my head, followed by a warm embrace. I will eagerly respond by saying, _Thank you, father, for serving you in your hard work. The strong shall live and the weak shall die._ He would respond, _you are the salt and light of the world. You are a pillar under my image. A woman to be granted responsibility for sustaining humanity. For as an alpha, we must destroy those who have shown insignificance to this world. A wretch in our feeble society. Come forth to the world and don't stop to the whole world knows that you are a fear to be reckoned._ I would bow down before him and kiss his feet. For he is my God. God may exist, but I see physical results rather than a sky god.

The police sirens disappear. They head the opposite direction. They are not for him, not yet. I look at my phone. It is a little after eight in the evening. It should be a couple of hours before a phone call to the police station to be placed. A couple more hours for a search party. If none of these things work, then some poor man walking his dog would find the poor boy. He would think he was sleeping. And he is a sleep that he can never awake.

I shiver. Not in fear, but the results on what is to come.

My words of wisdom to you all: the weaker the victim, the bigger the thrill.

Plus, he was not too deep in the park. A few minutes from the entrance. Through the inch-deep snow, it might take longer. I am indecisive on how I want my victims to be found. _Or not._ Challenges amaze me.

I pass the diner where everything began earlier tonight. I take a glance to see that someone is sitting at my spot. If they knew, if they only knew what occurred earlier. What if it could have been them in my position? I watch her, observing her. She has such a meek smile that reminds me of a mouse. Her pointy, but cute nose is only inches away from her coffee. She takes a cup and ingests any warmth. Her curly red hair matches with her dress that she is wearing. It is a pretty dress. Something that my sisters Lana, Lori, or Lena would wear. Did I mention that red is my favorite color?

She brushes her flushed cheeks. I guess that the coffee is too hot. She sits alone. She has a book beside her. I wonder what she is reading? Many thoughts come to me about her. Why that diner? Why that seat? Why wear such a dress? Is she waiting for someone? Is it just her style?

It arouses my curiosity.

But, alas, not tonight. If my appearance becomes inconspicuous, then I make a face. As much I want to make a name, not yet, not yet.

I stroll away from the diner and walk a few yards to the local theatre. A very retro theatre that has been there for many decades. The large bright neon marquee stands out for its reminder of our past. Do you want something to remind us of our past? Our transgressions? Our journey? Our footprint? History can be erased. Yeah, right. It is never erased. It may be buried, but it remains. Just because it is hidden from plain sight doesn't mean it is not there. It is confined in its hole until someone wants to unearth it.

God forgives and forgets your sins, my ass. Mankind never forgets. I won't forget. You won't forget. It is a part of life, accept it.

It was at the theatre where I had my first kill.

For the safety and reservation of this, I will keep her real name anonymous. I know what you are thinking, why not Rocky? Here is the difference. You all were here to witness my crime. Therefore, you are accessories to my murder, _our_ murder. You were not there when I committed this act. Therefore, I will give her some kind of dignity, or lack thereof.

Confused? You should be! Humility can be such an imbalance.

I picked her because she had a pearl necklace. It was beautiful. The coral white matched with her skin tone. Her creamy complexion allured me. She was a beautiful woman. Her green eyes showcased itself to many who had laid eyes on her, I included. Her brown hair was wrapped in a ponytail. It reminded me of a river of wheat. Soft and balanced to the touch.

I was behind her in line at the theatre. We were watching the same movie, _Princess Pony_. The pearl necklace dangled back and forth, swaying in her movements. She smelled of sweet gardenias. My Pop-Pop has those kinds of flowers growing in his garden.

A rosebud blossomed within me, aching to produce my sweet nectar. I made it in my mind. She was my target.

I forgot to mention that it was the premiere of the movie. So, there was going to be a lot of anxious, frantic kids in the theatre. And I was right. There was no room to spare in the packed movie.

One thing stuck out to me.

'You can sit here if you like.'

Her voice, gentle as a siren, wrapped itself around my face. She made me blushed.

I thanked her and I sat beside her.

She told me that her name was Cody.

Such a unisex name, but it suited her very well.

We sat together and watched the film. It was a very good film. It is good to take a break from the darkness once in awhile.

After the movie was finished, we exited the theatre. We were surrounded by the fangirls who were obsessed with the movie. She had invited me to go and eat ice cream with her. I have accepted. Before we left, I asked if she was with a parent. She told me that she wasn't.

At the ice cream parlor, she mentioned that she was an only child. Her mother was an accountant and her father was a juvenile court prosecutor. Such prominent positions, I have told her. She said that with her parents constantly busy, she had the privilege to do what she pleased, for as long it was legal and was home before curfew.

We both ordered the same thing, double-dipped chocolate ice cream with sprinkles and a cherry on top.

I have told her that she was lucky to have such a luxury of coming and going, especially for a girl her age. She shook her head that she desired of a simple life like me.

She had no idea of the simplicity of a complexed maze I have made residence and reluctantly grew accustomed to.

We exchanged stories about life, boys, movies, books, and the like. She even told me that she was a fan of Edwin. Edwin was a small crush of mine. From the position of others, it looked like we were best friends.

From the position it did.

When we emptied our cones, we left the diner and took a walk to the nearby park. Being in the latter part of spring, I expected to have visitors. But it didn't.

I was happy for a moment. Just a moment. Because I was happy to have alone time with her. I was happy because this was the spot when I have planned to end her.

We played on the swings. We have pushed each other. We were on the see-saw. We were on the merry-go-rounds. We did everything that typical girls did.

And to be honest, I had a blast. Surprised? I know I was.

When we got tired, we took a rest beside the men's restroom. We were panting and out of breath.

That was the moment when I have asked her of her pearl necklace. She was hesitant when mentioning it. She was silent. It was a pregnant silence. Like someone paused and she had to think within on a response.

She told me that it had belonged to a friend who has "moved away."

She and this girl had shared many moments together. Even things beyond their conventional norm of a friendship. Anyway, long story short, her friend's parents caught word of them and both were separated.

I saw tears coming from her fragile face.

She said I was the first to know about her being bisexual.

I smile, for I confessed to her that I am bisexual myself.

It took no time to confirm our budding sexuality to each other. She took me by the hand and kissed me on my lips. My back was leaning against the wall when she took her hand and grabbed my breast through my shirt. I tried my hardest not to moan but pressed harder, causing me to emit.

She took off my shirt and became exposed to the cool spring. She laughed as she continued to have her way with me. I didn't mind. I let her.

She stopped, wanting me to get on top and take control.

Big mistake, Cody.

I got on top and took a bite on her lip. She showed me her eyes, so stunning, very stunning. She hoisted my hips a couple of times, so I could really turn her on. I exchanged a few kisses a few times; wanted to get just right before I come for my kill.

She was really involved in the pleasure. So much so that she did not notice that I took her the pearl necklace.

She screamed my name in pleasure. I screamed her name in pain.

It didn't take seconds. It took some time. I don't want to be too detailed.

She gagged, she clenched dirt through her nails. I twisted and grunted. My shoe was leaned against her neck. I became so intent that I heard a snap.

It sounded like I stepped on a twig.

When it was all said and done. Cody was no more.

I stood and watch the scene of my crime. Her green eyes were fading away. Her hair was messy. Her body was turning into a different color.

Now, I was the only one doing the panting.

_Your first kill is never easy._

I wrapped my hands around the pearl necklace that I have used on her. Such a gift that her dear friend gave her. Such a regret as well.

The newspaper a few days later displayed the picture of a girl crying over the casket of Cody. reports said that she and Cody were best friends. In her hand was a similar necklace but in the color of Cody's eyes.

I later found out that the dear friend of Cody's killed herself a few days later. It was the day of Cody's birthday. Her body was found hanging from a tree. It was at the school where they have met and shared their first kiss.

_Your first kill is never easy._

I reached into my parka and pulled out the pearl necklace of my first kill. It is chipping away. Such a cheap and inexpensive piece of work. But amazing on how this piece of jewelry impacted the lives of these lost souls.

Maybe one day their souls would meet again.

Unsure, don't care.

I digress my thoughts and was ready to go home. My head hurts and I need a stress reliever. I pick up my phone and text Lincoln.

I give him a few words.

_On my way home. Wait for me!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. As a reminder, this is a work of fiction. The contents that were in this chapter does not reflect the author at all. Just wanted to be suspenseful as possible. Thanks for reading and God bless! More chapters coming soon!


	3. It Was A Rush

_The rush felt like nothing else._

It is getting nippy. The evening chill is starting to pick up. At the clock tower a few blocks away from the diner displays its time at a quarter after nine. God, I am a slow walker. But where am I going? I know obviously I am headed home, but is it really where I want to be? Home? Those four walls? That finite space? Entrapped in a cesspit of a void where I face the taunting on my demons. Screeching at me night and day, cawing like crows when being notified of the stench of death. Can't say I am quite surprised. I have kept a few "keepsakes" in my trove of treasures. My precious keepsakes. Similar to the chipped necklace in my parka. A little reminder of the deeds I have done and the deeds I have yet to commit.

Still amazing how the red-headed beauty reaches me in a position where I can't be touched. I am only a few blocks from the diner. Yes, the same diner where Rocky has faced his unplanned end. Well, planned for me, not for him. Anyway, something about that girl allures me. Entrances me. Giving me some kind of feeling I can vaguely remember. Feelings, yeah right. How can I feel? What can I feel? There is nothing of me to feel for I have never been taught how to feel. No way of conveying feelings and emotions. Darkness as it is and darkness it shall me. Yet again, the feeling of displaying darkness and despair to the downtrodden and the damned does give me something.

Maybe that is a feeling. Then yet, I am just a servant. A servant who brings betas on their knees. A servant who selectively picks those who are inconceivable to this world. Yes, the word, inconceivable, is a great choice. A mighty choice. Who are they to think that of their unpurposeful existence is worthy? It leaves me with an idea. An idea that produces to a plan. A plan that turns into an action. An action that makes an effect. The effect makes an affect. The mission is accomplished and I reproduce it again and again and again. I must thank my science teacher for concocting the idea.

The idea of the water cycle.

I know what you guys are thinking. How in the hell does a water cycle have to do with my menacing, deviant ways? Everything. Think about the process. Think about how water comes from the clouds and enter the ground. The ground absorbs the water and produces plants. Or when the water touches lakes and streams. Shit, I am getting too technical. Anyway, evaporation comes and takes the water to the clouds. The clouds are forms of water droplets. Water droplets eventually become rain and bam, the process starts all over again.

Here comes my psychoanalysis. Let's take my science teacher as my personal subject. I wrote him a letter after school for him to meet me. I told him that I didn't want to explain specifics. I just told him that it is something that neither my parents nor the principal should know. It is something between me and him.

Wonderful I say. The fallacy of a diluted teacher who has taken his vows of education too seriously. I have bet he had studied the roles and morals of being a valuable part of an educator. The National Education Agency and the Board of Education would have taken this sucker as a poster child of a proud and prominent educator. Bullshit and pure, pure lies. Just like me, anybody can act to get what they want.

Now, back to my story.

It was evening when he had arrived in the classroom. I sat quietly at my desk. My hands placed gently on it. That was the way how our teacher expects us to do when he wants our attention. A signal, a cue of sorts.

As he enters, I make a slight turn to him. My head tilts, weighing heavy on the burdens on what life has delivered to me. I didn't want the package, but I sure as hell have to sign for it. He makes his way across the desk where he sat quietly. He may have been thinking about what to say. I mean, having a private conversation with a student without the principal present is very frightening and dangerous. I mean anything can happen and it is his word against mine. Oh, my God, I am getting way ahead of myself with this. Let this story be the proof on how undoubtedly I am a force to be reckoned with.

I gently whispered his name. He shook, rattled by my gentle, but fragile released. He wants to place his hand on my shoulder, but I took aback. Never allow a person the upper hand until you allow the person to gain the upper hand. You must be a trust so that he is able to release his guard. He thought he was doing such a duty of service that it made me tickle within me.

I told him that I was grateful for his showing up. I bowed humbly in his presence. I coughed to get myself situated. I must convince on this was an important reason for his after school extended counseling session.

'I am grateful for you being here, Mr. [],' I have said to him.

It is based to leave his name out of this. He did have a family. And his family might be reading this. And if they are. If they are….

Read on what kind of man he displayed to you at home and I will show you on what kind of man he was around me.

'I am happy that you allowed the privilege of talking to you,' he said with a slight smile. You could tell from the partial exposure of his teeth that this was an honor. The giving, deservedly route. The role of a trusting teacher.

'What is it do you want to talk about,' he questions me as he intertwined his fingers.

'I wanted to talk about...I wanted to talk about…' I took a sigh. Give him a sense that he is reaching out to a student. 'I wanted to talk about what we have done today in class.'

His eyes widened like a saucer. I displayed a hidden smirk. I read him because he knew that earlier that day was a sensitive subject. A subject that everyone must face in their twelve years of forced education.

'I wanted to talk about the reproductive system,' I said to him with tears in my eyes. Droplets landed on my desk. I saw how red his ears were. How red his face was. Flushed and brighten more darkly as the tears make splashes on my desk. There was silence between us. So quiet that my tears sounded like droplets making contact with water.

He is shaken but isn't stirred. He walked to his desk and put both hands there. I know he was thinking. On how he was going to approach this. He was stalling. He kept looking at his desk. At times, he took a glance but strayed his eyes back to the desk. He became glued.

I had enough. I accelerated his thought.

I took slow but delicate steps. Like a child when asking for a favor. Or when a child facing trouble with a parent. Taking those slow, but shaky steps toward the inevitable.

I was the child. He was the parent. I wanted a favor. I was asking for trouble. I wanted the inevitable. I wanted an end. I wanted an end. I. Wanted. An. End.

_The rush felt like nothing else._

I sat on top of the desk in front of his desk. There was a small distance between us.

'Look up,' I have said to him as my tone gradually shifted from the tears of a frightening child to the mind of a woman.

He looked up as his face flushed from the position where he had seen me. I had my skirt lifted above my knees. I gave him a pleasant smile that he made him have a questionable look.

'Lucy,' he tells me. 'Where is this coming from?'

'You are my teacher,' I have said to him. 'I want to know more about our reproductive system.'

'In that form of fashion,' he questioned. He took a step back when I further display my legs. I spread wide as he could see my panties. Black like my soul. Black as the fading sunset. Black as the curtain of his soul was going to be.

'Tell me something, Mr. [],' I told him. 'You are an educator, right?'

He gulped. 'Sure I am, Lucy,' he told me. 'But I am also a person of value and integrity. I have standards.'

I giggled a little. 'Standards? I am much too young to understand that, but I am curious for what you can teach me.'

'Lucy, is someone hurting you,' he asked me. 'Is it your father? A relative?'

I stuck my hand out, citing silence. 'Why did you question my father first.'

He looked puzzled. I have snared him.

'Because, because…'

'Your tone of voice revealed it.' I stepped from the desk and peered to his personal space.

'Do you not want my father to do it,' I asked him.

'No, no one,' he choked. 'It is not right.'

'Do you want to do it?'

'Heavens, no,' he said.

'Oh, Mr. [],' I told him. 'Are you jealous?'

'Jealous,' he retorted. 'Are you insane, Lucy Loud?'

I took my hand and poked him on the nose. 'Pinocchio, your nose is spreading.' I slightly touched his nose to his lips where I rubbed it affectionately.

'What would you do if he did touch me,' I asked him. 'What would you do if he did that thing to me?'

'I would have to inform the police,' he said. 'Because your attitude does display it.'

' _Oui_ ,' I said. 'But, can you disinfect me?'

'What?'

'Take the pain away?'

'What?'

'Take it away. Help me forget about my father.'

He sighed loudly. 'We have to call the police.'

'No, they must not know.'

'Lucy.'

'You promise that it was going to be between us.'

'Lucy.'

'Promise me.'

'Lucy.'

'Promise me.'

By that time, I could feel his breath touching my lips. He closed his eyes with a sound of defeat. 'Ok.'

'Good,' I told him.

I wrapped my arms around him and I gave him a gentle peck on the cheek. He was taken aback. Surprised with his laboring breath on how a girl could gain control of her teacher. I didn't want just gentle peck. I plant my lips onto his neck. I licked it to the mandible. He struggled with his gasps, but I held onto to him tightly.

'Don't do this, Lucy,' he said.

'Don't do what,' I teased while I wrapped my legs around his waist.

'That you doing,' he said.

I took a bite at his chin. 'Look at it as a civil service. Look at it as a duty to serve your student.' I continued telling him that while I took a grab of his erected member.

'Look at it as you are disinfecting me,' I told him with pleading eyes. 'Save me, Mr. [].'

I displayed a smile when seeing how his tensed body became relaxed as he threw away his will and began kissing me. He squeezed his face tightly against mine, releasing all inhibitions onto my softened face. Feeling his prickly hair irritated me, but in a way, it was enjoyable.

I took a step back. He told a hold of my arm, inciting me that he wasn't finished.

'Am I supposed to help you,' he questioned me with pleading eyes. 'I want to help you take the pain away.'

I made my way to the floor where I slowly lifted up my skirt. I took off my panties and laid them on my seat.

'I want you to,' I said. 'But I have never done this before, willingly.' I spread my legs where he saw my nubile womanhood.

His eyes watered at the sight. 'How could that bastard do such a thing to you,' he said.

I spread my lips tenderly, giving him the impression, better yet, the allusion that I have done this before. Anger was appearing in his eyes.

'Disinfect me,' I told him. 'Help me take the pain away.'

Like a man who was deprived of any nutrients, he quickly jumped to me and landed on his knees. He was very delicate on spreading my legs. I twitched as he began kissing my legs.

'I am sorry,' he must have said to himself. 'I am sorry.'

'More,' I gasped to him with my pleading breath.

I felt my legs become moisten by his tongue. It was very dry and very sticky. He kissed my legs, using his hands to fondle my breasts.

'Please, Mr. [],' I said. 'You are doing an excellent job. Take the pain away. Take my scars away.'

I took my breaths, ensuring I was enraptured by the pleasure. While he was partaking on me, I was planning his end. I reached for my desk where I kept my pencil, my utensil, my writing instrument.

The multifaceted names for my murder weapon.

'That's right,' I said. 'Right there. Make me feel good.' I kept moaning to him so I can keep him distracted.

'I hate your father,' he said while kissing my leg.

'Forget him and become my father of the night,' I told him as I used my hands to put his dry tongue around my pussy. I cringed at the thought of knowing that this nasty man was inserting his dry tongue in my honeypot.

I used my left hand to keep him down there and I used my right hand to retreat the pencil.

I took a few breaths. It had to be just right. Enough to keep him distracted. Enough to keep me focused.

'Let me take the pain away,' he cried as he licked my pussy. 'Let me take it away.'

'Take it away, daddy,' I screamed. 'Take it away.'

_Take you away in 5...4...3...2...1…_

I inserted the pencil inside of his earlobe.

He started to convulse. I continue keeping his head on my pussy while I completely indented his brain with it. He was shaking and shaking and shaking until he stopped.

I climaxed on his final breath.

I pulled back from him. Seeing him lie lifeless on the floor covered in blood and covered in my juices.

I stood back and observed my work. I killed him. I killed him. I. Killed. Him. And with the very thing that symbolized him as an educator.

_The rush felt like nothing else._

I began to laugh. I was laughing. I was actually laughing. That stir made me feel something that I never thought I had. As the blood spread, I watched his body fade away. The sun was fading away. The light in the classroom was fading away. I, too, was fading away into the darkness.

I retreated to the restroom where the custodian kept his towels and gloves. I returned to the classroom where I cleaned the blood and my juices. I retrieved the murder weapon and put in my pocket. I gave him a little dignity. The fact that he wouldn't be a labeled a pervert is the closest thing to a mercy killing than anything.

He was the second kill and it was a very sloppy kill. I say this because I didn't have all of my shit together. It was learning in progress. Learning in progress. But, I do have a pencil as a keepsake for my trove of treasures.

His death is still an open investigation. They don't have any leads.

 _What is your point is what you are thinking?_ Why did I put you on a tangent about the water cycle? How does this compare to what I have done to a poor, pitiful excuse of a sickening, lecherous, perverted, hypocritical bastard who acclaimed himself as an educator? Everything!

A seed forms the blood of disparity and destitution of my plan. I have watched the seed grow as I planned the end of my teacher. The seed comes to life as I put my plan to effect. The effect makes the affect. And the cycle repeats.

_Or was it the plant cycle?_

At this point, I don't even care. Even the best of serial killers weren't the greatest in school.

I am now on the street to my home. I hope Lincoln is ready for what I am about to do to him.

As I make my way to the house, I am still picturing the redhead at the diner. Why is she bringing so much of a significance?

_Alas, that is a thought that I have to put aside for another time._


End file.
